


un deux trois

by voidandstars



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, I took all the dialogue from it, It helps that the rhymes aren't the best, Philip dies, This takes place during Stay Alive- Reprise, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 13:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidandstars/pseuds/voidandstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last moments of Philip's life were filled with his mother's singing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	un deux trois

**Author's Note:**

> ??????? ho w do i write summaries. also french numbers arent prnounced the way theyre spelled and its confusing (i say, as if i havent been taking french for the past 2 years)

Philip knew he was dying. He was shot, the wound- the wound _hurt_ , as should be expected of a gunshot. But the pain was gently fading away. He was starting to feel warm, his vision blurring slightly. His side was wet with blood and becoming wetter, even as his father put his hand on the wound. He blinked a few times and shakily grabbed for his fathers hand. He squeezed it (weaker than he would have liked) and gave Alexander a shaky smile.

“I did exactly as you said pa! I held my head up high.” His voice sounded strangely muted, like he was hearing it with cotton in his ears. His father was shushing him, telling him that he knew, _he knew_. “Even before we got to ten- I was aiming for the sky! I- I was aiming for the sky…” Alexander was telling him to save his strength, tears running down his face.

His father’s attention was drawn away by his mother’s entrance. His vision was getting blurrier, the sounds around him more muted. He wondered if he should be crying. No- there was enough tears in this room already.

His mother knelt down beside him and took his hand in hers. She held it tightly, like if she could just hold it tight enough it would tether him to earth. He let out a little laugh, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, despite what he wanted.

“Mom, I’m so sorry for forgetting what you taught me.” At those words Eliza simply shook her head, letting out a little sob.

“My son…”

She sounded so sad. She was already grieving him, even as she watched him slip away. Philip squeezed her hand tighter (still not tight enough). “We played piano,” he reminded her. A happy memory. She couldn’t grieve him yet, not while he was still here.

“I taught you piano…”

“You would put your hands on mine.” Eliza looked both grief-stricken and happy at the same time, somehow, and Philip smiled.

“You changed the melody every time.”

“Ha. I would always change the line.” His vision wasn’t getting blurrier, anymore. It was getting darker. He could hear everything clearly, but it sounded like every sound was coming through several layers of blankets. Eliza noticed, her facial expression grew desperate.

“Sh, I know, I know.”

“I would always change the line…” He wouldn’t stay quiet, he wouldn’t. He was running out of time, he couldn’t just stay silent. That isn’t what his father would do, that isn’t what Philip _will_ do.

“I know, I know…” He couldn’t see his mother very well. It was getting harder to breathe, to concentrate, to see or hear, to _care_. This was death. All he wanted to do was sleep. He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t.

“Un, deux, trois, quatre,” his mother started, and his lips quirked up into a small smile. He started following along. This would be the last thing he heard, he knew.

“Cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf.”

“Cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf.”

“Good,” Eliza said. It was good. He was dying, almost dead. His mother was singing to him, his father holding his hand. He wasn’t dying on the battlefield, in glory, but he did die defending his father’s honor. It may not be the way he would have chosen to die, if he could, but it was damn good enough.

“Un, deux, trois, quatre.” His vision was fully black. Oh. His eyes were closed. He felt warm. He wouldn’t be able to finish it. He wished he could have.

He could at least try.

“Un.”

His mothers voice was the only one he heard.

“Deux.”

He gave his parents hands a weak squeeze.

“Trois.”

He had no more strength. He was fading out. The last thing he heard was his mother’s singing, fading into white noise.

And you know what?

That _was_ good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are nice!!! so are kudos!! im on tumblr @aro-lafayette if u wanna scream abt hamilton w/ me (pls)


End file.
